


violent ends

by brophigenia



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Romeo and Juliet Fusion, Alternate Universe- Baz Luhrman's Romeo + Juliet Fusion, F/M, and you can probably see where the character death is gonna occur, blue is romeo, noah is mercutio, ronan is tybalt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 08:10:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16082024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brophigenia/pseuds/brophigenia
Summary: A plague on both your houses,indeed.(AKA, it's the AU inspired by the 90s Romeo + Juliet movie, and Blue is Romeo and Gansey is Juliet and it ends up about as well as you'd expect.)





	violent ends

**Author's Note:**

> What the hell.

( _ i was buried alive; i came back to haunt you.)  _

 

_ *** _

 

She is  _ screaming—  _ all she can see behind her eyelids is Noah’s face, full of surprise, clutching his mortal wound.  _ A plague on both your houses,  _ he’d gasped, one last damnation before he met the ground. Before he met the grave. 

Ronan Lynch’s face is defiant, his weapon drawn; she is  _ boiling  _ in all her fury, a metallic taste on her tongue even as her hands shake with the injustice of Noah’s erasure from the waking world. There will be nothing more but praying and dreaming for the two of them, her and Noah together. Nothing but that, and if Ronan slays her now there will not even be that. 

Her hands shake but her weapon does not, dependable creation of live steel it is. Damnable thing, wretched terror. Were that she was never gifted the thing, nor its shoulder holster she was so proud to peacock around in, nor the bullets in its clip. 

She’d felt so grown up with the weight of it at her side, so intimidating. So invincible. 

What  _ children  _ they’d all been, waving their Longswords around carelessly, pointing them at each other’s precious, delicate heads and grinning like bare-marrowed skulls in the dark,  _ daring.  _

“Either thou, or I,” Blue says,  _ screams,  _ the sound raw and wrenched from her throat. She can hardly see out of her raw eyes, as if all the tears she has cried were made of ragged shards of glass. “Or  _ both,  _ must go with him,” 

Ronan grins, sharp as knives. Sharp as her supposed glass tears. Sharp as the line between  _ alive  _ and  _ dead  _ that Noah had tumbled from so suddenly, so quickly torn from the mortal coil.  _ Noah,  _ she thinks when she looks at his hateful, beautiful face.  _ Noah, Noah, I’m sorry, Noah.  _

“Thou, wretched thing, that didst consort him here shall with him  _ hence.”  _ Ronan promises in a voice so soft, so full of the kind of devotion usually only found in cloistered priests, obscenely out of place in the rain when spoken by a boy-murderer. 

“This shall determine  _ that,”  _ Blue spits, and though Ronan is known throughout all of Fair Henrietta as the premiere duelist, the proper heir to his father’s bloody legacy, there is nothing he can do to match the quicksilver draw of her Sword from its once-loved holster. 

Young she may be, and untried, but Ronan Lynch will die tonight, and make no mistake.

Gansey is far away; the very  _ concept  _ of Gansey is far away, as if he is a dream only half-remembered in the mornings, before the harsh reality of the world seeps in with the daylight between the curtains. There is no Gansey and there is no ring on her finger and there is no love swelling and stirring and staying her heart. 

There is the squeeze of her finger on the trigger of her Sword, there is the deafening riot of sound produced by gunpowder and explosions and soft tissues being ripped open, there is her blood thundering in her ears, there is Ronan Lynch’s mouth open and his bone-white teeth stained red and he  _ falls  _ and he is a boy, not a monster, dead on the ground. 

Dead, he is dead, he is dead and last she saw him before this horrible day was at the Ganseys’ party, him wrapped beneath Gansey’s arm, protected and cherished and cajoled. He’d been laughing then, and Blue imagines Gansey’s face when he hears of Ronan’s death. Imagines Gansey’s face when he hears who, exactly, slew Ronan Lynch, the Prince of Crows. 

“O, I am fortune’s fool,” she murmurs, and feels as if her stomach has rotted beneath her skin. 

“Blue, away! Be gone!” Orla is screaming, pleading, at her, the sound of her voice both urgent and murky. Nothing feels real anymore. “The citizens are up, and Ronan slain! Stand not amazed, the prince will doom thee death if thou art taken!” 

Blue almost wants to snort, imagining fair Prince Henry condemning anyone to death. He’d always been too lenient towards them, the Sargents and the Ganseys. She’d always suspected he secretly adored the novelty of hosting such an avid blood feud in his own principality. 

Still, she begins stumbling away, wanting to be out of sight of the corpse, glassy-eyed and too-still. “Hence, be gone! Away!” Orla urges her, and then there is nothing but running, soles pounding against the pavement. Her Sword left behind, the first time she’s been anywhere without the weapon at her side since she was young enough to still wear dresses. 

There is nowhere else to go but to Gansey, and she cannot even take refuge in the sweet nest of his arms and his ribs and his cool mint breath. 

_ I am fortune’s fool,  _ she mouths into her own hands, trying to stifle her sobs. Every beat of her heart says  _ Gansey Gansey Gansey,  _ and she feels the weight of Noah’s dying curse upon her back. 

_ A plague on both your houses,  _ indeed. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me @ brophigenia.tumblr.com


End file.
